


Not a Fling

by wallywesticle



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8342845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallywesticle/pseuds/wallywesticle
Summary: It started out as something insignificant. Koenraad wanted closeness, company, and Feykir wanted to lose the title of little kid. He didn't want to feel alone.





	

It started out as something insignificant. Koenraad wanted closeness, company, and Feykir wanted to lose the title of little kid. He didn’t want to feel alone.

They had met on many encounters, small gatherings their mutual friends had thrown together. Mikkel was adamant to make all his friends be friends with each other. Thus, Koenraad and Feykir grew close, talking about things they both enjoyed, discussing poetry and literature, anything that drew them into that close-knit circle of friendship. It didn’t take long for the two of them to invite each other to their houses, having movie nights, reading together in silence, and just enjoying the company. It was closeness. There was no loneliness.

Feykir had shown up at Koenraad’s front door one day, drenched by the falling rain, eyes rimmed red and swollen. The Dutchman didn’t ask any questions, he just allowed him in, brought him a towel, and turned up the heater.

“I can’t stand being around my brother anymore,” he had told him suddenly. Koenraad had merely the time to make them each a cup of coffee and take a seat next to him on the couch. He nodded, though not very understandingly, and waited for him to continue.

“He- He treats me like i’m a child! I’m not! I’m nineteen, dammit. He can’t tell me if the person I may or may not want to date is acceptable. Hell, I could go have a fling if I wanted!” Feykir was fuming. It took much of Koenraad’s willpower to not laugh at the rant, and he simply nodded again.

“Why don’t you, then?”

“Why don’t I what?” Feykir’s violet eyes turned on him, brow poised from his question, and voice a little harsher than normal. The Dutchman shrugged.

“Why don’t you have a fling?” The Icelandic nearly went bug-eyed, staring at his friend in shock, jaw dropping and leaving his mouth agape. Koenraad looked bemused.

“You said you could have a fling if you wanted, so why don’t you?” Feykir cleared his throat nervously.

“I just- If I wanted to, yeah.”

“Do you not want to?” “

No? Yes? I don’t know. Girls aren’t my thing.”

“You don’t have to have a thing with a girl,” Koenraad said, taking a sip of the coffee held in his hands. Feykir eyed him warily, putting his own mug on the coffee table and crossing his arms over his chest. His face was pink, and he was almost sure he wasn’t ready to have this conversation yet.

“I don’t know any guys i’d have a fling with,” Feykir admitted. Koenraad found himself chuckling.

“Leon?”

“Too good of friends.”

“Mikkel?”

“Too loud.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” The Icelandic’s cheeks went red, and he nearly sputtered. Koenraad stared at him calmly, waiting for an answer. Feykir wanted to wipe that smug look off his features.

“Maybe? What kind of question is that?” The Dutchman shrugged, setting his mug on the coffee table and reaching for his pipe. He slowly stuffed it while he spoke.

“You seem shy to talk about having a fling. Makes me think you haven’t kissed anyone.”

“I haven’t,” the words tasted like vinegar coming out of his mouth. Koenraad ceased filling his pipe, leaned forward, and pressed his lips firmly against Feykir’s. The younger of the two sat rigidly, stilled by shock, and let his body respond naturally. The kiss ended too soon.

“Now you have,” Koenraad stated, returning to filling up his pipe. Feykir’s face was a vivid scarlet, and he watched patiently as the Dutchman loaded his pipe with tobacco. Before he lit it, he spoke.

“Can we do that agan?” Koenraad arched a brow.

“Do what again?”

“That. The...kiss. Can we do it again?” A smile appeared on the Dutchman’s face, small and genuine.

“Ja, we can do it again.” Feykir wasted no time in leaning forward and capturing his lips. Their first kiss was chaste and short. Their second was slow, gradual. Though inexperienced, Feykir seemed to know what he was doing better than Koenraad expected, moving his lips clumsily with the other’s. Koenraad moved his pipe back to the coffee table, careful not to tip it and drop tobacco everywhere. He moved his now unoccupied hands to rest on Feykir’s waist, carefully edging the fabric of his shirt upwards until his palms fell atop bare skin. The Icelandic almost gasped, pulling from the kiss and realizing he was straddling the Dutchman’s lap. He felt crushing embarrassment, unable to get away from the grip on his waist. Koenraad almost looked confused.

“I thought you wanted another kiss?”

“I didn’t know you’d start taking off my shirt.” An amused smile spread across the older male’s lips. Feykir had to keep himself from gulping.

“I didn’t know you’d straddle my lap. But you did. Apparently i’m the person you wanted a fling with.” Feykir felt stupid. It wasn’t ever hard to figure him out, and he didn’t know why he thought he could fool someone as wise as Koenraad. He sighed out. Koenraad frowned.

“What’s the matter?”

“I just- I wanted to know what it felt like to kiss you. I didn’t know i’d end up wanting a fling with you.”

“You want a fling with me?” Feykir made a startled noise, took in a breath, and slowly nodded. Koenraad looked thoughtful.

“Not on the couch.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am not going to have a fling with you on the couch,” he clarified. Feykir looked more embarrassed than ever, eyes wide and cheeks red. Koenraad waited patiently for some sort of retort.

“Are you serious?”

“As serious as a heart attack, Feykir.” The Icelandic’s heart thudded against his chest, and he swallowed down some of his nervousness.

“Just...not on the couch?”

“My couch is leather; i’m not getting stains all over it. It was expensive,” Koenraad scoffed. Feykir laughed at that, nodding his head in whatever understanding he could muster. Leave it to the Dutchman to be worried about money though he had a lot of it.

“Okay, not the couch. Where?”

“My bedroom.” Just the words shook Feykir’s nerves, and he had to stop himself from shivering.

“Your bedroom. Right. Uh? How do we-?” Koenraad chuckled, shifted a little so that despite Feykir’s top position, he’d still have the upper hand, and pressed a short kiss to his mouth.

“Let me handle it, okay? I can smell your nervousness, Fey. Relax. Enjoy this. A fling is fun.” Feykir nodded his head, told his body to relax, and did. Lips were pressed to his neck, teeth on his collarbone, and a gentle groan left his throat. Relaxing seemed to come easier, and he hadn’t even noticed when his shirt was removed from him or when they had made it to the bedroom. The cool, plush comforter felt nice against his flushed back, and the teeth biting at the skin of his chest made him shiver and moan. Koenraad made haste with getting them both out of their clothes. It didn’t take long, either, to get Feykir effectively worked up and a mess beneath him. He moved back in, pressing their lips together again, and worked on soothing Feykir’s nerves before preparing him for what would be coming next.

* * *

 

They did this a lot. Some boring days they’d simply show up at each other’s house, skip the formalities, and fall right into bed with each other. Sometimes the sex was slow, gentle, and other times it was rough, harsh, and filled with gnashing teeth and blunt nails. Feykir would often lay there, nestled in Koenraad’s side, mumbling something about his bad back hurting even more thanks to the pounding he took. Koenraad would do nothing more but utter an apology and play with his hair.

Tonight was different than the rest. It had started off slow and sensual, moving to rough biting and harsh grinding. The sex itself was rougher than their gentle nights, but too gentle to be considered rough. Feykir was louder than usual, keening and moaning and letting out gasps and whimpers of the Dutchman’s name. His orgasm came to him hard, forcing him to let out a scream and strew of curse words in his native tongue. Even Koenraad couldn’t keep himself from letting out a groan and a word similar to ‘fuck’ when he came, too. He pressed a few kisses Fey’s collarbone, pulled out slowly, and collapsed beside him. Feykir let out a contented sigh.

“Ég elska þig.” Koenraad looked over at him, obviously startled.

“What was that?” Feykir berated himself for his blunder, for his confession of feelings, and turned his eyes away quickly.

“I-I didn’t- I- Sorry-!” Koenraad turned lazily on his side, turned Feykir’s face back towards him, and kissed his lips.

“Hey kid?” There was a pause.

“What?”

“I love you too.”


End file.
